


I've Got You

by Sadrobots



Series: I've Got This Machine [2]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Backstory, Gen, depression and panic attack mentions, the silver eyes, tw abuse, tw child death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 16:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10222790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadrobots/pseuds/Sadrobots
Summary: "When I just met William, I thought he was perfect."Henry's backstory and his side of This Machine.





	1. Chapter 1

I never questioned how my parents treated me, until I became a father myself. When I held the twins in my arms and thought about raising them, it brought back memories of things my folks said and did that I’d never repeat. Still, when I think back to being a kid, I mostly remember happy things. I spent the majority of my time alone with my imagination, drawing and telling stories to myself. I wanted to learn to sew to make my own stuffed animals, but that wasn’t manly enough, so my dad tried to nudge me in the right direction by letting me play around with electronics and metal instead. It stuck, so I became an engineer.

For a long time, I worked in factories, assembling and maintaining robots. This job took me all over the country. I didn’t even have a house, my workspace was a van and I slept in whatever motel was the cheapest. Everybody said I was a good employee, because I was a perfectionist and would work until somebody told me to stop, but I deeply hated my job. When I was a kid, my creations were my friends. I’d get a light to blink and give it a name and a personality and imagine it had the power to fight off my nightmares, or something like that. Here I made big sad machines that got stowed away in the dark, doing the same thing forever. Still, I felt like those skills were the only thing I had to offer, so I had to keep going.

One of my supervisors caught on to the fact that I was barely eating, so he forced me to go to a diner after we were done for the day. It was an hour before that place closed as well and there’d rarely be anybody there, except for one waitress who had to go back into the kitchen because of me. On most nights, it was a girl my age with dark wavy hair and a kind face. When I apologized for always showing up at such a weird time, she smiled and said I gave her a reason to be there. That felt like a big deal to me, though I knew it really wasn’t. From that moment on, we’d have little conversations that got slightly longer every day, until the night she joined me at my table with the last slice of pie.  
          “So… do you come here a lot?” She asked.  
          “Well, yes.” For a second I thought she legitimately forgot who I was.  
          “I know. That was a joke, like a bad pick-up line.”  
          “Are you picking me up?!”  
          “Hm.” She tilted her head and stared at me like she had to make an important decision. This time I actually got the joke and smiled at her, fully and sincerely, not like when I forced my face to be polite to my colleagues. She blushed and looked down at her plate. It was the first time in months that I felt like I existed inside my body, like I was more than a pair of arms getting work done. I ate my steak while she finished her pie. She told me about the town and her hippie parents. I loved the way she moved her hands as she spoke, like she was conducting her voice with her fork. When I was about to leave, she stopped me and reminded me that this was the last time I’d see her, since my work would be done on Monday and she didn’t have that shift. Before I could say anything, she wrote her number on her menu pad. Then she slipped it into my coat pocket, pulling me in for a kiss in the same move. For a split second I was really worried that my glasses were going to be a problem, but they weren’t. In the year after that, we’d call each other all the time and when I was in the neighborhood, I’d stay with her and sleep in what she called her not-quite-two-person bed. One morning I recounted how smooth she was with our first kiss. She laughed and told me she’d been planning it in her head for days, she even worried about my glasses. I still don’t know what I did to deserve her.

At my job, I often suggested small improvements to the automatons. My superiors caught on and promoted me from assembly to design. This meant I didn’t have to travel anymore and could just fax and mail blueprints from the home I didn’t have. I decided it was time to ask my girlfriend to marry me, so I made her a ring, had a couple of panic attacks and eventually proposed. She actually said yes and we settled down. I thought I was going to be happy, my life had never been better, but instead I fell into depression. I’d been through it before, but this time there was actually someone there to help me. She kept me from neglecting myself again and encouraged me to start thinking about what I wanted to do, to use my skills to make something I actually wanted to make. We decided that I should build robots that were like improved versions of the characters I made as a kid. Robots that could mean to others what they meant to me. We started picturing a restaurant, because my wife knew a lot about the service industry. It was going to be called Fazbears Family Diner. Before I knew it, we were looking for investors. I declined my sister’s money, but she did find us somebody. Some British guy would come over and see what I could do.

It felt like I still had weeks when I sat down to work on Fazbear. I’d already built the basic endoskeleton, that part was easy, but designing characters didn’t come as naturally as it did when I was a kid. I’d constantly stop and trash everything I was doing, starting over and doing something that was just as good as the last sketch, if not a little worse. The bear I forced myself to commit to was fairly simple, with some accessories that would make him recognizable. After I was done patterning and felt sure enough about how the endoskeleton would fit inside, I could finally get lost in the craft. I painted the eyes, sculpted and cast the nose, cut out the pattern pieces and started sewing. There was nothing but me and the steady rhythm of my machine. Then, suddenly, William Afton.

I can’t remember exactly how I responded when I saw him in the doorway, but I felt like I made a terrible first impression on a man who cared about first impressions. His hair and beard were neat and I could tell at a glance that his clothes were tailored. He wasn’t conventionally attractive, but there was something about him, a tall broad man who could walk into any room like he belonged, with light piercing eyes that really saw you. I was instinctively scared of him, I thought it was because guys like him beat up guys like me in school, but he was friendly and genuinely interested in what I told him. When we were near Fazbears future location, he outright said he liked me, an offhand comment that I took like high praise.

We agreed to work together and it turned out we had way more in common than I thought. He had neglectful parents, used to get picked on and was bit of a nerd as well, though it took him a while before he allowed me to call him that. He genuinely wanted to be a part of the creative side of Fazbears and while he couldn’t draw to save his life, he was great at math and a natural at programming. William also knew how to encourage and inspire me, when he had to fly out to one of his other businesses, he always came back with books and other gifts that were perfect for me and gave me new ideas. At work, he protected me from getting trampled and was the pragmatic, assertive man I could never be. Outside of work, he was my friend, someone I watched monster movies and scifi shows with, someone I loved to talk to and trusted deeply, even though I hadn’t known him for very long.

The restaurant opened and did way better than I expected. William and my wife told me this was going to work, but I had to see it to believe it. Kids loved what I created. I finally built something that made people happy. My life seemed to be falling into place and then it got even better, because my wife was pregnant. When she told me I gave her the tightest hug I’d ever given anyone and immediately worried I might’ve hurt the baby, or as we would later found out, babies. She kept working throughout most of her pregnancy, humoring kid’s requests to see if she could balance a cup on her stomach and letting them talk at the twins. I’d joke that she was the preshow for the animatronics. William only smiled because he had to and avoided her wherever he could. The cracks were already starting to show.


	2. Chapter 2

When I just met William, I thought he was perfect, but the longer I knew him, the more I saw how vulnerable he really was. Every time I disagreed with him, even if it was something minor like whether a song on the radio was good or not, he’d flinch like he’d been hurt. It was easier to miss than to notice, but once I saw it, I never complained about new wave again. He needed a constant supply of smiles, reliability, compliments and success and whenever that faltered, he’d get agitated. Sometimes he blew up at employees, I still feel bad I let that happen, but most of the time he’d internalize it and do the same thing I did, overworking himself to prove his worth. If someone wronged or contradicted him slightly, he’d obsess over it for hours or even days, repeating the event back to me until I agreed with him that he was right and didn’t deserve it. One time he punched a dent in the fridge and broke his hand, because someone important got his name wrong. William acted assertive and confident and he was really good at it, but there was always something right under the surface, a persistent pain and insecurity he hid from everybody, including himself. I did what I could to help him, I gave him praise when he wanted it (so, always) and didn’t disagree with him unless I really had to. In a way, I was glad I could look out for him like he did for me.

After my children were born, William got worse. Charlie and Sammy were beautiful and healthy and everything I hoped for. I wanted to be a good dad and spend time with them. I took them on trips to show them beautiful things, even if they were too young to remember any of it. I wanted to be there when they cried in the middle of the night, so that my wife could rest and there’d never be a moment where they felt left behind. I still worked at least fifty hours a week, but William made it clear that he was disappointed in me. Then the animatronic Fazbear caught on fire and while William was slightly upset about it, he was glad that we had to work to replace him. I liked trying something new and more ambitious and with him there to guide me, I could actually finish what I started. Still, the way he tried to keep me away from my family just seemed wrong. My best friend couldn’t be happy for me and it broke my heart.

When I talked to my wife about it, her only theory was that he was jealous of us. She thought he was in love with me and I struggled to explain why I thought it wasn’t really about me at all. Regardless, setting him up with my wife’s friends seemed like a good idea. Maybe he did want a family and having somebody would help him like it helped me. He went on the dates, but it didn’t work out. One girl said he was the worst date ever and he’d stop calling the ones that did like him. When I walked into his office to talk about this, I could tell he just pulled an all-nighter and said it could wait, but he insisted he was fine. He wasn’t. Some layer of restraint had fallen away, his eyes were wider and his words were quicker than usual.  
          “I don’t know why your wife thinks my life is her problem.”  
          “I know it’s a little annoying, but she just wants to help,” I replied, mentally kicking myself for throwing her under the bus.  
          “She wants to get rid of me. She hates me, she’s hated me since the minute we met.”  
          “Why do you think that? You’re the one that always treats her like she’s not even there.”  
          “Oh, so it’s all my fault?” He raised his voice and some buried memory made me shake. He knew what this did to me, he wanted to hurt me. As the conversation went on he got louder and I felt smaller and his face became something I hadn’t seen before. Then, just as I was at my limit, his words turned into a cry for help.  
          “I thought you understood why people aren’t good enough. I thought that was why we built this.” He needed me and I didn’t know what to do.  
          “What do you want from me, William?” I pleaded. His face snapped back into rage like a springlock.  
          “I want you to do your fucking job.” He grabbed his coat and slammed the door, a sound that finally made me break down and cry. Because he was in pain and I couldn’t fix him. Because I caught a glimpse of what he could become.

The next couple of months, he denied anything happened. At first I was certain he was lying, I knew he’d do anything to avoid apologizing, but he wasn’t acting like the person I thought he was. He wasn’t vulnerable, he wasn’t even angry, he was just a friendly, confident man. I started to think I imagined all of it, that he’d always been that way and that everything else was me being the crazy one. Then my son disappeared.

Those days are a blur, a collection of loose sounds and images I will never be able to put together. I remember I held Charlie for hours, not answering any of her questions, clinging to her as she eventually fell asleep, desperately trying to convince myself it wasn’t all over. I don’t know how much time passed before I saw William again. I don’t remember how the conversation started. I just know we were standing in the hallway when he said the worst thing he possibly could have said.  
          “At least you still got the one.”  
It wasn’t an awkward joke, Will was never awkward, he just grinned and expected me to think it was funny.   
          “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” It was the first time I yelled at him. I saw the flinch, the trace of a hurt ego flashing across his face.  
          “Calm down, lashing out at me won’t make it better.”  
          “I’m sorry,” I said reflexively. “No, wait, no I’m not. You’re the one that should be apologizing.”  
          “God, you’re so different. I wasn’t expecting this.” The words hung in the air and in that moment, I was completely sure of what they meant.  
          “It was you,” I whispered. Of course he did it, he hated my children, he hated that he wasn’t the only person in my life. I expected his mask to break, but instead he finally found the expression he should’ve worn in the first place.  
          “I’m sorry, Henry.” His tone was soft and certain. It calmed me down, I couldn’t help it, I’ve always felt his voice in my stomach. “You had an awful day and then I walk in and say the wrong things. You’re confused. It’s okay, I understand. Everything is going to be okay.” He put his hand on my shoulder. I didn’t want him to, but I didn’t move away. “We don’t know what happened. Everything could still turn out alright. You can’t give up.”  
Just like that, I collapsed, crying in his arms, shaking as he reassured me over and over.

Nothing can prepare you for losing a child, but between me and my wife, I was more equipped to deal with trauma. She’d been a happy girl from a happy family, someone who trusted people and didn’t doubt the future. This tragedy destroyed her whole world. Everything was tainted, even our daughter became a grim reminder of what she lost. She cried and she tried and she hated herself, but one day, she left us behind. From that point on I raised Charlie by myself. I made her lots of toys, trying to fix her childhood like I’d fixed my own.

Meanwhile William was opening restaurants and branching out, getting me to build more things. I was fine with that because it was something to do, something to make me forget myself, but working didn’t distract me like it used to. I was secretly losing my mind, thinking that one of the animatronics I was building was my son, somehow. I think I finally became what William wanted me to be all along, his personal factory, always where he left me.

More children disappeared in the area and most of it was associated with what was now called Freddy Fazbears pizza. Somehow, the franchise survived this. Children loved the animatronics, even kids whose parents insisted they were terrified of dolls and mascots. They saw them as friends and protectors and couldn’t get enough of them. William had merchandise made that sold like hotcakes. Somehow the restaurant in our small town did especially well.

I only visited the place when I had to, but anyone could tell there was something about it, something in the walls. I saw an inviting face hiding something much more sinister, like the man who built it. When I talked to employees, more often than not, I’d meet different versions of me, slightly awkward people that would reward a little kindness with fierce loyalty. There was this night guard who described his job as straight-up dangerous, but he also said that the animatronics “meant well” and someone needed to look after them. When I mentioned that I made them, he got really excited and asked me for my autograph. It was the first time in months I smiled sincerely at someone who wasn’t my daughter. Then he said that Foxy was his favorite and asked me how I got him to “seem so alive” and I couldn’t stay there for another second.

I didn’t see William as much as I used to, but about once a week, he would come over after Charlie was asleep, usually bringing some movies he rented. He complained about having to marry his pregnant girlfriend, like that wasn’t rubbing salt in my wounds. Still, I liked spending time with him. We talked about robots and bad special effects. He told me funny stories about the restaurant like it was just a normal place. He knew what to say when I broke down. Then he put his arm around my shoulders and let me fall asleep, because I was so, so tired.

One night, he was the one that fell asleep. I went upstairs to check up on Charlie and when I came back, he was lying on my couch, softly snoring into a pillow I sewed out of fur scraps. I looked down at him and I saw someone I loved, not a monster, but still, I knew. I knew what he did. I knew what he would do when he had a child of his own. I knew I should grab a knife and end all this. Instead I put a blanket over him and went to bed.

I couldn’t lose him too.


End file.
